Tonight I Wanna Cry
by PiOneOneZero
Summary: Post Endgame a grieving Janeway drowns her sorrows and does some reflecting about what might have been. Fic is inspired by Keith Urban track Tonight I Wanna Cry. I've done an accompanying piece of fan art to go with this fic which you can find here: pioneonezero dot deviantart dot com /art/Tonight-I-Wanna-Cry-467489772


_That first view of Earth - "Home" - is mind-blowing. The intense feeling will stay with me for life, but I suspect I will never have the words to adequately describe it to another. I glance over at you, and apprehension is plastered on your face._

_I have been so focused on this moment for so long, but I never allowed myself anything other than idyllic fantasies about what happens next._

_I forcibly surrender to this beautiful limbo - my mind caught in the stillness between past and future, which I know will be short lived, but that for this instant alone is euphoric._

_I inhabit this moment with all the passion of my soul; capture it; savour it; package it up to be held in my heart for the rest of my days. Our journey is done but I am yet unburdened by that fateful question - 'What now?'_

_I allow my eyes to close and hold my hand out towards you - hoping you will take it; feel what I feel; share this profound experience with me._

_You do not, and the illusion shatters._

_I open my eyes and you are staring straight ahead. The breath I didn't even know I was holding escapes, and is replaced in my chest by a choking wave of grief._

_It is over._

I sit alone and listen to the rain. It's been a grey, miserable day; I took a walk earlier, to try and clear my head. I dragged my feet for miles through the surface mud, damp calf-high stalks of the early corn whipping against my legs - but it was that fine misty drizzle that soaks you in seconds and I was soon shivering with cold.

Even lying with my back against the thick branch of my beloved willow brought me little comfort as I felt the water soaking through my clothing; despite the reassurance that wonderful old tree gave that, even after long years on the other side of the galaxy, some things never change. My wet clothes are still scrunched up in a sad pile on the kitchen floor.

Now, the rain is much heavier; coursing down the windows in rivers and pounding on the flat roof of the porch. In the distance, I can hear the low starting rumble of thunder.

I look down at the wine glass in my hand - almost empty again. I lean forward to refill it, the dregs of the bottle releasing a froth onto the surface of the drink; I place the finished bottle next to its fellow. The head rush that accompanies me as I relax back into the sofa confirms that I have indeed consumed the contents of both.

I think I'd been hoping to find oblivion in the bottom of a bottle, but it seems that all I've found so far is the past.

_Walking off the ship... it feels like walking to my doom. They haven't put handcuffs on you, B'Elanna and the other Maquis, but they may as well have done. The way they look at you, push you ahead of them roughly. I'd hoped... but as if anything I'd hoped mattered any more._

_At least they allow us to say goodbye; you're stiff as I embrace you, uncertain. Sudden awkwardness between us where there was only ever comfort and trust, the enormity of what is happening manifesting in a blurred mess of strange emotion._

_"It'll be okay. I promise". I mouth the words as they pull me away from you, scared that if I speak them aloud they will be exposed for the lie they'll surely turn out to be. Your face tells me that you still believe in me - how can you after all that's happened? How can you when the most frightening and unknown part of our journey is still before us? You take my heart with you as you turn and walk away._

I'm not really sure what happened then, whole sections of those first few days are a murky haze and thinking back on them brings only numbness. Perhaps it was my mind trying to cushion me from the pain. All I know is we were soon in some kind of plush conference room with refreshments laid on and a big party banner. As if celebrating was somehow appropriate; as if it could make up for them ripping us into the two halves we had ceased to be so very long ago.

Those painful farewells seemed all too quickly followed by bittersweet reunions that I equally craved desperately, and yet was nowhere near ready for.

_I exchange very few words with my mother - mainly because the words don't exist to express what we need to say - but we both know it and I think that's enough. It's enough for me and I pray it's enough for her._

_My sister's arms around me after all this time feel strange. She pulls away and looks into my face, an expression of real joy, burgeoning tears. Who knew it would take seven years and a galaxy of separation for Phoebe and I to truly see eye to eye for the first time?_

_"What's wrong Kathryn?" Damn her intuition. I feign ignorance._

_"There's nothing wrong". I deserve the truly incredulous expression that meets me at this response._

_"There is. But I won't bug you for now. It must be very strange I guess, being home after all this time"._

_"Yes, yes it is"._

_"You should get a dog - I'll pick out a puppy for you". I know she's thinking about how a dog had helped me find myself again after our father died._

_"Thanks, Pheeb, but I don't know where I'm going to be, what I'm going to be doing. It wouldn't be fair..."_

_"Yeah, makes sense I guess". Her crestfallen expression sends a wave of guilt through me. She's only trying to help – this must be as strange for her as it is for me._

_I almost spill it all, tell her everything about you and the agonised waiting that had all been for naught - but for reasons I fail to grasp, I do what I have done so many times before and swallow it._

_How well I've learnt to do that over the years._

I'm wishing now that I'd taken Phoebe up on her offer of a puppy. A little warming presence and a damp nose pushing itself into my neck all wags and licks has dragged me up from the depths before.

But I know why I refused. I don't want to be cheered, I don't want to be helped. And I'm definitely not ready to heal.

_Admiral Montgomery's cold gaze makes me shiver as his eyes pass over me. I can't quite tell if he's trying to intimidate me or if I really am an object of such distaste._

_"So, Captain, how can you believe in Chakotay with so much conviction?"_

_"_**_Commander_**_ Chakotay". I know the risk I'm taking in correcting him thus, but I'm not prepared to let his slight of you stand, "is one of the finest officers I have ever had the honour of serving with. He stood by my side for the last seven years and has in every way proven himself loyal, courageous and unflinching. I could not have completed this journey without him"._

_Oh, and he's the love of my life._

_I don't know whether it's my boldness in defending your rank or something else in the manner of my response that makes him raise an eyebrow, but he lets the matter drop. Perhaps he filled in the unspoken end of that over-earnest appeal for himself._

_"Dismissed"._

And so it continued for weeks, the debriefings, the inquiries, the endless rounds of questions that I either couldn't or didn't want to answer. Every encounter trawled over, every decision scrutinised.

I resisted the idea of listening to our crew's personal logs, but they made me. Even yours. I felt sick - the enforced invasion of privacy rang a discord in my head. We'd built up trust, love, and made ourselves into a family over those years and this felt like such a violation of those bonds. There were things I should not have heard.

_I don't like to think about where they are holding you. It's Starfleet, so I suppose I should be comfortable that they are treating you well, but I hate to think of you locked away like a caged animal. God it hurts, knowing I sacrificed everything we could have been respecting their rules and regulations, and now I don't even know if I believe in them anymore._

_B'Elanna's words of many years ago choose this moment to taunt me, "The problem was a system that didn't give anyone a chance to breathe". Had she been right after all?_

_I spent hours, days, trying to decide whether I should come to the trial. Of course, for support, for appearances and my own need I should, but would it be too hard for all of us? In the end… of course I had to be here._

_You sit there in the dock looking so small, so vulnerable - more afraid than at any time in all those years, through all those trials we faced. I know it was because we'd faced that together, and now you have to face this alone; Oh my brave and beautiful warrior how I want to protect you now._

_But I cannot. All I can do is watch or walk away. And I choose to walk away when I see you looking over at me with those sad, soulful eyes and an expression I cannot read. I don't know if it is for your benefit or my own._

After it was done I had to come back here, but in hindsight I don't know if it was the right decision. As if wide open spaces, caramel brownies and the smell of home would make everything magically better.

Either way, an empty apartment in San Francisco didn't appeal and there was far more chance of people dropping in on me there. I'm not ready to have those conversations yet; smiling; making nice; pretending to be happy.

_I'm trying to avoid looking over at you both. It's wonderful to have the gang reunited for this one night in celebration of our, in my eyes needless, absolution - but it's also incredibly hard._

_I'd love to run over and embrace you, speak words of congratulation, hold Seven and tell her how beautiful and happy she looks. I am not that strong. What strength I had remaining on our return has been slowly leached out of me by the bureaucracy of these past months, and I feel stretched - when I look in the mirror I fancy that I can almost see through myself._

_You are both looking over now, whispering to one another and I try to look interested in whatever B'Elanna is saying to me, but I'm watching you out of the corner of my eye. Who knows what you see; you always could discern everything I tried to hide, so if I'm honest putting on an act is futile._

_I still try._

My Mom's pashmina is thrown over the back of the couch, and I can't help but bury my face in it, breathing in the calming scent of her. She was so reluctant to go out tonight.

_"Are you sure you'll be all right Kathryn?"  
"I'll be fine Mom. I just... need to be alone right now"._

I can still see her worried expression, burned on the back of my eyelids when I let them close. How I wanted to beg her to stay, to fall asleep curled up in the safety of her arms like a tiny child again.

When will I learn to open my mouth and tell people what I need, rather than letting them walk away?

I watched her leave through the downpour, head bowed as she ran for the hovercar, ducking elegantly inside as she reached it. She probably wasn't even completely out of sight when I uncorked the first bottle.

Somehow I'd imagined things would be different. Somehow numerous versions of me had imagined this moment would be so very different…

Day One Kathryn - well, she was all full of wide eyed hope and rousing speeches. Had she really believed we'd be home quickly - weeks or months rather than seven long years? Yes, I believe in her naivety, she had - home quickly to Mark, to marriage and to a life that was not forever irrevocably changed.

How about Day 503 Kathryn, as she held her best friend and former first officer's hand in that little shelter and stared longingly into your eyes. Did she even want this day or was she content to remain on New Earth for the rest of her life? Remain there with the man she was just coming to realise that she loved?

Then there was poor heartbroken Day 546 Kathryn, who was forced to kiss that dream goodbye. Forced to lay down the line in no uncertain terms and forego all foreseeable chance of happiness – both because of Starfleet protocol and her own moral code – despite the fact that, by then and after all that had happened between us, her love for Mark felt like a galaxy away in more than just distance. What foolish hopes had she held in her heart about what this day would mean?

Day 757 Kathryn watched you defend her from Q with fire in your belly and passion in your eyes. The excitement that twisted her insides at that moment told her that she had no more let the spark burn out than you had.

On Day 806, she died. That Kathryn died and she watched you grieve for her, whilst pain lanced through her heart. She didn't want to say goodbye to you then any more than I want to say goodbye to you now. You saved her in the end - yes she may have been the one to fight the creature off, but ultimately it was her bond with you that gave her the strength to return.

The Kathryn of Day 976 cried and told you that she couldn't imagine a day without you. You told her that, despite her fears, she was not alone. I'm pretty sure that's the closest we ever got to 'I love you'. Those three tiny words that hung in the air of every conversation we had for so long but never managed to get themselves spoken aloud.

Letters from home. That was the focus of Day 1165. We had a heart to heart after that Kathryn's safety net was ripped from under her. No real backup excuses? That was careless. Protocol is such a flimsy word when we've bent and torn it in every other way imaginable, so why hold to it in this instance? Being honest, she was just afraid, afraid of giving in to desire only to lose you one day to this savage space. As if the loss of you could have been made any harder by us sleeping in the same bed; by expressing our love for one another instead of burying it. No, should it ever have come to that, it would have changed nothing.

It was the darkness, the emptiness that finally allowed that lingering guilt to take hold, on Day 1376. That Kathryn hid, crushed beneath the weight of the burden that she couldn't carry without distraction, her mind deserted of the ability to be still. And despite her stubbornness and her self-indulgence you were there, gently trying to persuade her out of herself. You were right of course, quietly unassumingly damn well right yet again, and by the grace of what little was left of her sanity, she loved you and hated you for it in equal measure.

The Kathryn of Day 1571 had to ask you to keep fighting, when every fibre of her being was screaming at her to let you stop. She hoped you felt the tenderness in her touch, the unspoken apology, as you looked up at her with those deep, trusting eyes. As you once again accepted her judgment and forced yourself to battle on. If she could have spared you, taken your place, she would have done.

Day 1692. Who was right and who was wrong probably doesn't really matter anymore - all that remains is the depth of the hurt. The damage that was done seems, with hindsight, like it was irreparable. Was that the day that finally put the nail in the coffin of us? Was that the Kathryn who finally saw the hope start to slip away?

What about idiot Day 1898 Kathryn who was only trying to bury her pain and the loss of our closeness in a holodeck fantasy, and succeeded in nothing more than pushing you even further away. Did she still entertain any ragged left over dreams of a happy ending?

Day 2395 Kathryn. I try not to dwell too much on the gut wrenching agony she forced herself to swallow when you told her about you and Seven. Whatever any of the earlier Kathryns thought, she had no choice but to admit to herself she'd been expecting you to wait for her. Trying not to hate either of you was a tougher challenge than any other the Delta Quadrant had previously presented.

And finally, Day 12166 martyr Kathryn who stood at your grave and wept. How many years did it take her to conclude that your happiness was more important than her own, more important than her life even? She was a stronger, braver and more self-sacrificing woman than I could ever be. She went beyond all reason to change the past instead of drowning her sorrows in the bottom of a bottle like I am. What did she go through in those 26 years I never saw that made her a better person?

So what about me? I am Day 2541 Kathryn, on some level relieved that it is all finally over; that all those days of questioning in courtrooms is done. Somewhere, buried oh so deep, gratified that our journey - both my greatest joy and my heaviest millstone - is at a final end. To see you and the other Maquis walk away free – well, it's hard to describe that exquisite feeling.

But it means, I too, am free. Free to think - free to rake over the memories, the heartache, the regret. Free to finally give in to the pain. Seven years of holding back is more than anyone can bear, and at last it all comes flooding forth, blindsiding me with sudden anguish, and I am doubled over before the coffee table convulsing with the sobs that wrack my body. Drawing breath becomes almost impossible, so I gasp like a fish out of water, dark spots creeping into the edges of my vision.

Before I begin to admonish myself, and try to pull together the bare threads of my dignity, I decide that I can allow myself this indulgence. This one night to wallow before I have to pick myself up and work out where life takes me next; how I go on without you. I know I will do it, somehow - I've done it before and I'll do it again. But tonight, I will let myself cry.

The insistent bleep of the comm unit intrudes into my self-destructive thought spiral and I am simultaneously annoyed and relieved. I had set it to alert me only in case of a priority message, so even in my drunken haze I force myself groggily over to the unit. It's audio only.

"Computer, play message". I cringe as I hear myself slur the words.

"Captain... Kathryn. I have realised my error - he was never mine to have. His heart belongs elsewhere. It was never my intention to cause either of you pain. I love you and I am sorry. Seven".

I do not have the capacity to process these words. Somehow, I make it to the bathroom and splash water on my face, gaining enough of my faculties to realise what she is saying - that you and she...

Staggering back to the sofa I retrieve my glass, gulping down a huge mouthful in an attempt to slow my racing heart. Only now do I register that tears are coursing from my eyes anew, tears of a whole onslaught of emotions many of which I couldn't even attempt to name. Dare I allow myself to hope...?

Another big slug of wine and my breath is less ragged, less desperate. The rain has now become torrential - beating a fierce rhythm against the window, lightning sending a shockwave across my vision. I hadn't realised how dark it had gotten in the room until that flash.

What do I do? Do I send you a message? Do I call you? Do I wait for you to call me? **_Can_** I wait for you to call me?

Then suddenly here you are, rushing in from the storm like my dark Heathcliff - wild, fierce and full of purpose, the droplets flying from your hair and dripping off your eyelashes. You don't even pause to remove your coat or boots before you are kneeling before me; gently easing the glass from my hand and setting it down; fruitlessly kissing away the hot tears from my face with your cold lips, your wet cheek against mine.

The rough fabric of your waxed jacket scratches against my bare arms, but I don't care. I don't care about anything but the scent of you, the taste of you and the sodden glory of your embrace.

And now, as it turns out, all those hopeful Kathryns don't seem so stupid after all...


End file.
